The flowerbed - Aespa's Giselle x M!Reader

The countryside (Part 1)

Chaewon's POV

The countryside air felt different from Seoul's constant rush. Cleaner maybe, or just emptier. Like the silence had physical weight.

His sister's worried voice echoed in my mind as I adjusted my mask, pulling my hat lower despite the lack of cameras here. Old habits.

"He's not eating properly," she'd said during our late-night call. "Barely leaves his room except to help at the store sometimes. I'm worried, Chaewon-ah. He's getting... less. Like he's fading."

The town was small enough that most locals knew who I meant when I asked about "the quiet young man from Seoul." Their directions led me to a modest store with living quarters above - the kind of family business that formed the backbone of places like this.

"Oh, their son?" an elderly woman sweeping outside nodded toward the upper floor. "Poor boy. Always polite when he helps in the store, but his eyes... such sadness there."

I found him exactly where his sister said he'd be - in the small room facing west, watching the sunset paint the sky in colors that probably reminded him of practice room evenings and coffee shop moments.

"Your sister's worried," I said softly, not bothering with greetings. We'd moved past those kind of formalities long ago.

He didn't seem surprised by my presence. Didn't turn away from the window. "She shouldn't be."

But I could see what had frightened his sister enough to call me. His clothes hung looser, cheekbones too sharp under skin that hadn't seen enough sun. The man who used to radiate warmth and strength looked... hollow.

"When did you last eat properly?"

A slight shrug. "I eat."

"Y/n..."

"Why are you here, Chaewon-ah?"

The question held no anger, just bone-deep exhaustion. I moved further into the room, taking in the sparse furnishings. No photos, no mementos. Nothing to remind him of Seoul or what he'd left behind.

"LE SSERAFIM has a two-week break," I said casually, settling onto the floor near him. "Thought I'd visit an old friend."

"In the middle of nowhere?"

"The scenery's nice."

That earned a weak smile that didn't reach his eyes. "Always were a terrible liar."

Silence stretched between us, broken only by distant farm sounds and the occasional call of birds. So different from Seoul's constant noise.

"Have you..." he started, then stopped. Swallowed hard. "How are..."

"You know I can't," I said gently.

He nodded, jaw tight. We both knew the rules - no information about them, no updates, no connection. Clean break.

"They assigned us a new coordi-noona last week," I offered instead. "She reminds me a bit of Ningning actually. Always losing things in her left pocket."

His hands clenched at the comparison, but I pretended not to notice. Kept my voice deliberately light.

"Sakura's teaching her Japanese. Though probably not as patiently as you taught us." I watched his profile carefully. "Remember how terrible I was? All those late-night lessons..."

"Chaewon."

"You used to make us coffee to help stay awake. Always remembered everyone's orders perfectly-"

"Please." His voice cracked. "Don't."

I fell silent, watching him stare at the sunset like it might hold answers. Like maybe if he looked long enough, he'd see past the mountains to where Seoul's lights were starting to come on.

"I dream about them sometimes," he admitted quietly. "About that morning, before everything fell apart. Giselle wearing my shirt, stealing bites of my breakfast. Winter documenting everything like always. Ningning actually finding something in her left pocket for once..."

His laugh held no humor. "I wake up reaching for coffee cups that aren't there. Turning to share jokes with people who can't... who I can't..."

"Y/n..."

"I know it was the right choice," he continued, voice rough. "Leaving. Giving them space to heal, to rebuild without the weight of my mistakes. But sometimes I wonder..."

"Wonder what?"

"If they're okay. If Ningning still loses everything. If Winter's still taking photos of every moment. If Karina's taking care of herself while taking care of everyone else. If Giselle..."

He stopped abruptly, pressing his palms against his eyes. "Sorry. I shouldn't... you're not here to listen to me..."

"Maybe that's exactly why I'm here."

Finally, he turned to look at me. The pain in his eyes made my heart ache.

"You're getting too thin," I said softly. "Not sleeping enough. Your sister's right to worry."

"I'm fine."

"No, you're not. None of us are."

The words slipped out before I could catch them. His expression tightened.

"Chaewon..."

"I'm not telling you anything specific," I cut in. "Just... you're not the only one carrying scars from last year. The only one who hasn't quite figured out how to heal."

The sunset had faded to deeper blues, Seoul's direction nothing but darkness now. Still, he stared toward it like muscle memory.

"I keep thinking," he said finally, "about that last morning. Before the photos leaked. Everything was so normal. So perfect. If I'd known it was the last time I'd see them smile like that..."

"Don't."

"I had so many chances to tell her... to tell all of them how much they meant. How proud I was of their strength, their growth. All the things that mattered. But I thought there'd be time."

"Y/n, please."

"Sorry." He scrubbed a hand over his face. "I promised myself I wouldn't... that I'd stop..."

I reached for his hand, feeling how cold his fingers were. How they trembled slightly in mine.

"When did you last eat?" I asked again.

"I don't remember."

The admission felt heavy in the growing darkness. Standing, I pulled gently on his hand.

"Come on. Your mom mentioned something about soup when I arrived."

He resisted slightly. "I'm not hungry."

"Wasn't a question." I tugged again. "Up. Now."

For a moment I thought he'd refuse. But slowly, so slowly, he stood. In the faint light from the hallway, the changes were even more apparent - how his clothes hung loose, the shadows under his eyes, the way he seemed to curl in on himself like he was protecting an endless wound.

"One step at a time," I said softly, leading him toward where warmth and food waited. "That's all anyone can ask."

He followed, silent but present. It wasn't much, but maybe it was a start.

The countryside night settled around us, so different from Seoul's endless light. But some pain felt the same anywhere.

Some healing had to start with soup and silence and someone caring enough to show up.

It wasn't everything. But for tonight, it had to be enough.